A/N: This section of the story is shaping up to have a lot of long chapters. I still have no beta or brit picker so if you can give me any advice let me know.
John was pretty sure he was dreaming again as he'd been here for what felt like hours and Mycroft wasn't saying anything that made sense. "Sorry, what?" He asked, just in case.
"What with your relationship-" Mycroft sneered, "-with my brother being what it is-"
"Hold on," John said. "What relationship?"
"Indeed. But it is his name as legal guardian on Liealia's paperwork and as such there is a loophole that allows-"
"What? How? He's dead." John wasn't positive, the details of his time spent mourning were more than a little sketchy, but he didn't remember signing anything and he was pretty sure Sherlock didn't sign anything while he was a cat.
Mycroft ignored him. "As I said before you stopped me: I have been informed that magic has been performed in your presence. And, with your domestic life at 221B the minimum requirements have been met; I am obligated, as Sherlock's intermediary since he is indisposed, to inform you..."
John frowned; whatever Mycroft was dancing around couldn't be good. Plus it sounded like he didn't want to say anything to John which meant someone from higher up was forcing him to. John didn't know who Mycroft reported to but he knew that it was best to avoid attention, fade into the background, whenever powerful people were around. Now it appeared that he was important enough to warrant an illuminating discussion with Mycroft Holmes. It was the exact opposite of what John wanted, especially right now.
"You see, John, the Holmes are an ancient family-"
"Oh, for the love of-!" John cut Mycroft and himself off. "Just spit it out!"
"Sherlock isn't dead."
John was aware. But he wasn't entirely sure that his belief was rooted in reality. Therefore, instead of bragging to Mycroft that he knew this and possibly falling into a trap he said, "No, Sherlock is dead. I am a doctor. I was there."
"Mary, it seems, isn't dead either."
"No." John shook his head. He saw the tape, he knew that with a little clever editing it would be easy for whoever put Moriarty's face on every screen in London to put that together and time it with a sniper's shot. The timing was even off! "I saw the body." He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to stop seeing it. Mary wasn't... good. But no one deserved a death like that.
"You saw a body." Mycroft corrected insufferably. "And I know you're afraid. Saying magic is real is an easy way to earn a stay somewhere not pleasant."
John kept his jaw clenched.
"A person only dies when their spirit moves on. However, it is possible to hold a spirit to this plane of existence."
"Like a ghost?" John tried not to let his excitement show by raising an eyebrow and saying cuttingly, "Have you been reading too much Harry Potter?"
"Doctor Watson," Mycroft said gently, "John, you're not crazy. It's real." The moment passed and Mycroft lost any sign of sentiment or weakness. "Now, let's stop playing around."
John wasn't buying it. One of the first things Mycroft learned about John was what he used as a weapon, trust issues. Those weren't built overnight and John trusted his instincts. There was something off about this meeting.
"I was unaware until very recently that Sherlock decided to stay. He somehow acquired a magpie as a familiar while in Poland." Mycroft looked very put out about this. "He'd never shown an ounce of magical ability while we were children-"
John kept the thought that they were both still children to himself.
"-or when he was a teenager. Although, it makes more sense now..."
When Mycroft trailed off John took the bait, "What does?"
"The fact that he survived." Mycroft examined his umbrella as he said, "I watched my brother try to kill himself in so many ways so many times. And the times I wasn't available were numerous."
John felt sick.
"My brother has never been... well. I'm sure you've seen it. It doesn't take a doctor to-"
"Yeah, yeah." John didn't want to hear Sherlock spoken about this way. He knew that Sherlock wasn't like other people. That's why John liked him. Whether Sherlock had aspergers, was bi-polar or was just so intelligent other people couldn't understand him and vice versa was none of John's business. At first John tried to diagnose him; he'd even spoken to Greg about it. But that was years ago. Sherlock was Sherlock and that was more than good enough for John.
"I tried to stifle Sherlock's sentimentality. My magic is produced by logic." Mycroft rubbed the ring on his right hand and the woman John knew as Anthea shimmered into existence at his side.
"Yes, sir?" She asked, not looking up from her phone.
John stumbled backwards.
"It's time." Mycroft said. "Release your glamour."
Anthea did.
Anthea was not human.
"Jesus Christ!" John yelped.
"Very funny." She said flatly, attention going back to her phone.
"Anthea is a ghoul, not a vampire." Mycroft informed John. "Holy artifices have no hold on her."
"R-right."
"The Holmes's are masters of death, also known as necromancers."
"Right." John was positive now that he was dreaming but somehow this dream made the most sense of all the ones in the past and was the least disconcerting of all. It's like John's subconscious was taking Sherlock's interest in the macabre and Mycroft's aura of unsettling august-ness and combined them into a family trait. More often than not recently John's dreams were somehow prophetic. Sometimes it was a minor thing, like a modified pocket; sometimes it was major, and John really hoped this one didn't come true. It was, perhaps, this sense of unreality that made John say, "Is your name Jane?"
Not Anthea looked up from her phone, eyes flashing red. "Yes." She glanced at Mycroft.
"No, he's not yet been added to the family registry." Mycroft said to her before he glared at John darkly. "I don't know where you heard that name but you will forget it, immediately."
Jane - Anthea -smiled widely at John, rows of sharp pointy teeth bared.
"Anthea is a family servant and if her true name is spoken by any member in her presence she will be released."
"So?" John was appalled. It was slavery!
"So?!" Mycroft was looking at John like he was a particularly dense goldfish. "Anthea is a ghoul! A flesh-eater that breeds by biting the living and turning them into the undead. Releasing her would also release all the spells my family has put on her that holds her in check."
"You... eat people?"
Anthea had lost interest in the conversation and her focus was mostly on her phone. "I did when I could."
John, being John, had to ask, "You wouldn't anymore though, right? If you were released?"
"Answer honestly," Mycroft ordered.
Anthea pouted and said wistfully, "It's been a long time since I've had contact with others of my kind. Europe is rather overdue for a nice plague."
John blinked. He didn't quite know what to do with that.
"I must say, you're taking this rather more calmly than I forsaw," Mycroft said.
John shrugged; there was no point in getting worked up over a dream.
"In that case, I brought you here because you need to understand what you're up against. Although Mary is a threat she's nowhere near as dangerous as this new player."
"Why?"
Mycroft ignored the question. "You're going to need our family's protection. There are two ways to go about this." He motioned to Anthea and she disappeared before reappearing with a book. "We can adopt you into the family. Your parents are deceased so it wouldn't pose a problem."
John disagreed. Being Mycroft's, Sherlock's, brother was unacceptable. Apparently his response was written on his face because Mycroft moved on quickly.
"The other option is marriage."
John choked. "A-are you proposing?!"
Mycroft was not amused. "Of course not."
"Well unless you have a sibling no one's ever heard of..."
"John, don't be obtuse."
John gestured wildly. "Well what am I supposed to think?! Your parents are still together."
"John." Mycroft said, eyebrows raised as if it was obvious. When all he got in response was a shrug Mycroft said, "Sherlock. I'm talking about my brother, Doctor Watson."
"Sherlock is dead."
Mycroft looked unimpressed. "Let me know your answer soon. We don't have a lot of time."
John said sardonically, "I don't care what you do, looks like either way I end up with you as a brother." He huffed and left.
...-...
John startled awake, chest heaving. Sherlock was dead. Sherlock was dead. Sherlock was never coming back. Unlike Mary. Mary came back. John told Mary he loved her.
He hated her.
She'd shot two of the most important people in his life now. She missed both times, thank God. But they both still would have died if John hadn't been there. John kept pressure on Sherlock's wound and Mrs. Hudson's until help arrived; the paramedics at the first scene and some of Mycroft's secret minions the second. Blood, assured that it was Mrs. Hudson's type was hooked into her and John got her mostly stable, as best he could given the situation, by the time the ambulance arrived. The shot was wider than John originally thought. It made John wonder, he never forgot what Shan said about assassins and missing.
John stood and checked on his daughter, she was sleeping soundly in the cot next to Sherlock's bed. John dreamed every night now and it was getting harder and harder to tell the dreams from reality. Of course, if his life hadn't been so messed up he wouldn't have the problem. First Sherlock, then Moriarty and now Mary were back from the dead. It wasn't hard to see why John thought Sherlock was coming back again.
Molly was still missing. It had been a week and there were no new leads. Both John and Lestrade were at their wits end. John didn't realize Greg fancied her so much. John thought they were a good match and prayed they'd find the pathologist safe and sound. God only knew what Mary was doing to her.
It was surprising that Sherlock hadn't found a way back, what with Molly, Liealia and John being in such danger. This was just the impossible sort of puzzle Sherlock loved too. That's how John knew he wasn't alive anymore. Sherlock wouldn't leave at such a crucial time, right?
He'd met the real estate agent. She was nice but it was obvious she was just a regular woman. She wasn't Sherlock in disguise. And although she seemed inappropriately interested considering when his wife died John had no desire to see her romantically. He didn't want to paint himself into a corner just in case but he was pretty sure he was done with women. Nothing good ever came out of any of his relationships and everyone close to him got hurt. First Sarah, then Mary, maybe, and of course Sherlock...
That was the excuse he was using not to see his sister. She called after she heard about Mary's death. Usually John was the one to suggest they meet but he didn't and she didn't offer. Without realizing it John had made plans in his head: Sherlock would come back, they'd go together to Harry's, they'd announce their relationship, have a successful intervention and they'd all live happily ever after. John snorted. He honestly didn't see anyone living happily ever after in real life and he was certain he didn't deserve to. He could feel the distance between his sister and him grow but it was better, safer, this way.
Liealia woke and John took her with him into the kitchen where he made a bottle one handed. "We're going to go get Grandma Hudson from the hospital today," he told her.
She gurgled happily.
"Uncle Greg is going to go with us, probably uncle Mycroft too."
Liea smiled at Greg's name and sneezed at Mycroft's.
"Yeah. I agree." John wiped the snot from her nose. "But it's worth it to keep everyone safe."
She looked skeptical. So did the three magpies watching through the window.
Apparently, John thought to himself, the universe does not revolve around Sherlock Holmes. Because if three magpies were for a girl the very last girl John wanted- expected -to see was Mary.
Greg arrived in one of Mycroft's cars bringing with him Mycroft's apologies and excuses. John just growled and set up the car seat. He figured Mycroft was avoiding him and the safe house conversation.
...-...
John had just gotten Mrs. Hudson in 221A settled when the doorbell rang. John left Liealia with her and ran to answer, figuring Mycroft just wanted to make an entrance since he never showed at the hospital. There was a woman in a nice pant suit outside and for John's heart leapt. She said she was from the HMRC. John was more than a little conscious of the weapon hidden in his pocket but she was here for Sherlock.
"He's dead." John said without preamble.
She blinked at his bluntness but conducted herself smoothly, "That's why I'm here, Mr. Watson-Holmes. May I come in?"
"It's Doctor." John corrected automatically. He was so uncomfortable having a stranger near his family he missed the second last name. After he verified her identity, Ms. Nancy Gables, with the help of the bodyguards out front he sent a quick text was sent to Greg just in case Mycroft was indisposed. Greg hadn't left too long ago so John figured he'd respond quickly. Ms. Gables was either very professional or she wasn't surprised by the amount of security around the flat. Both options made John wary so he took her to 221B.
"It's my understanding that Mr. Holmes died a little over two months ago, is that right?"
"I don't know. I think so," John answered honestly. Wanting the woman gone as fast as possible he said, "Sorry, but what's this all about?"
"Well, I'd just like to start by saing that I'm very sorry for your loss."
"Thanks?" John was rather nonplussed by this whole interaction. Was she talking about Mary or Sherlock? She said she was here for Sherlock but as far as she knew Sherlock was just John's flatmate.
"But you were supposed to inform us of your spouse's death. Changing the trust from one vulnerable person to another does not qualify-"
"Sorry, what?" John was fairly certain Mary didn't have a trust. And she certainly wasn't a vulnerable person.
"A VPE1 was filed with our office by your solicitor." Ms. Gables acted like this explained everything.
Except Harry was John's solicitor and he was fairly certain she would have called about a trust if she had anything to do with it. "Um..." John hedged. He had a feeling he knew where this was coming from and that Mycroft had left out some important information last time they spoke.
"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"
John gave up all pretence, "Yeah, why don't you start at the beginning."
She nodded as if she expected this. "Your husband-"
"Sorry, what?"
"Mr. Holmes, your husband." When John didn't do anything but blink with his mouth wide open she became concerned, "Doctor Watson-Holmes, are you alright?"
John managed to close his mouth. "Sorry," not knowing what else to do John said, "continue."
"Yes, well, he had a family trust..." She trailed off and changed what she was going to say next at John's expression. "I take it you were unaware of the trust."
"No, no. I'm sure his brother mentioned it." John wasn't positive but he did say something about not wanting for money, didn't he? Mycroft had dropped off a bank card and other information at one point but everything about that interaction was rather fuzzy.
"Well, from the paperwork it appears that a Mr. Mycroft Holmes was the trustee and he is transferring that duty to you and the trust itself is being moved into a Miss Liealia-" she butchered the name "-Watson-Holmes's name." She produced some paperwork from her bag. "Is this your signature?"
It looked like John's signature, if he were drunk. Which, if he had signed anything when Mycroft came over with the bank card he would have been. "Yeah. You'll have to forgive me; I wasn't myself during that time. I don't remember much." He admitted ruefully. Like, apparently, marrying his best friend. That would have sobered him up fast. John wondered just what Mycroft had been up to.
"Understandable." She said, going back to her bag.
One of the magpies flapped his wings and let out a rough screech loud enough to be heard through the glass. John turned to look at it but it was pecking at the glass, if John didn't know better he'd say the bird was trying to warn him...
John turned back to the woman just as she pulled a gun from the bag. "Shit!" Not having many options John decided to step toward her and try to disarm her. "HELP!" He called down the stairs praying someone heard him. Grabbing her wrist he used his superior strength to hold gun to the ceiling. She fired as John tried to break her wrist. She got some good punches in to his face but he managed to hold her at bay until backup came.
"Who sent you?" John demanded once she was disarmed and subdued.
"Fuck you!" She spat rabidly.
There was a loud crack of a sniper fire and John, as well as Mycroft's agents, dropped to the floor. The woman, who John suspected was not Ms. Nancy Gables, fell as well but she had a hole in her chest.
One of the agents moved across the floor of the room quickly and closed the blinds as John put pressure on the wound. "Who sent you?" He asked again.
"Moriarty." She said with a manic laugh.
"Moriarty is dead!" John pushed on the wound so hard he felt a rib break.
She didn't even flinch and the next words came out without so much as a cough despite the large amount of bubbling blood coming from her lips, "Moriarty can't die. 'To die was an art.' The master of death."
"What does that mean?"
The woman's pupils were fixed and the blood flow had slowed considerably.
John checked for a pulse and cursed when he didn't find one. She was dead.
The woman took a deep breath, startling John and nearly causing him to miss the next words, "Did you miss me?" Another breath, a different voice, "Did you miss me?" Another breath, Mary's voice, "Did you miss me?" Another breath, Moriarty's voice, "Did you miss me?"
John shouted and stole the firearm off one of the spooks. He shot the body in the head twice.
"G-gu-ss n-tt," gurgled out along with insane laughter.
John emptied the clip and the room was silent aside from the slide-click of the action as John pulled the trigger twice more to make sure.
"She's dead, mate." The agent said, carefully taking the empty weapon from John.
John realized he was shaking. He asked, "Did you hear that?"
It was obvious from the agents' expressions that they hadn't. "The gunshot?" One asked tentatively.
"No!" John waved his arms widely, spraying thick droplets of blood across the room.
"The bird?" The other asked, indicating the magpie that was going bonkers on the other side of the glass and curtains.
John shook his head in dismay. Was he going insane?
Mycroft entered. "Out." He ordered and his men hastened to obey.
"Were you here?" John asked, meaning to ask if Mycroft heard the dead woman speak.
"Yes, but the message was only for you. I couldn't hear it either." Mycroft leaned over the body and started examining it. "What did she say?"
"'Did you miss me?' only in different voices."
"Whose voices?" Mycroft asked without looking up.
"Moriarty's, Mary's, her's and one I didn't recognize."
"Would you be able to identify it if I played a sample?"
"Maybe." John wasn't sure. He was answering on autopilot. John realized he was trembling.
"Do you remember what I told you last time we spoke?" Without waiting for an answer Mycroft touched his ring.
Anthea shimmered into existence beside him. "Oh, the brains are gone," she said sullenly.
"You're not here to eat. Can you see the magic?"
John sighed in relief, he was dreaming.
"It's faint, very well done. I can't say for sure but it feels the same as the other one."
"Other one?" John asked, not expecting an answer.
He didn't get one. "Tell me everything. Any small detail could be important," Mycroft demanded of him.
"Can I wash up first?" John asked, eyeing his bloodstained hands and ruined clothing.
"No."
John rolled his eyes.
"Anthea? Tea." Mycroft took a seat in John's chair.
John sat on the coffee table, keeping the body between them. He thought he saw Mycroft frown but it was gone when he looked again. Well, he mused, at least I'm allowed tea and the blood will be gone when I wake up.
The tea service came with one of Mrs. Hudson's crocheted blankets and John was grateful. "Thanks."
Anthea looked shocked. After a too long pause she said, "You're welcome," with a smile.
End A/N: I have no idea how the HMRC works so I gathered what I could from their website: (links disabled on this site but it's a government source) either suspend belief or correct me. :P
As for the last chapter's ending: I did some research and it looks like ambulances in the UK don't typically run the sirens if there's someone inside and especially wouldn't if the person was stable. I didn't see much about their light rules so I went with my experiences in the US, where if the person inside is stable and they're not going to break any traffic laws they don't use them.
Sorry not sorry for the misdirect.
Teaser playlist for chapter three: (youTube link can be found on my Tumblr TheArtOne or on AO3)
